Sacrilege
by Anastasia-G
Summary: In order to deal with the punishing agony of being the Anchor, Bonnie taps into desires she didn't even know she had. Klonnie S5. AU-ish. Supernatural BDSM. Warnings: blood, use of sacral words for decidedly un-sacred purposes.
1. Chapter 1, Kneel

_"I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife" - Hozier, Take me to Church_

* * *

She was all the light of the Sistine Chapel contained in a delicate human body. Klaus enjoyed witches and what they offered his ambitions as well as his bed, but there was something numinous and fierce in Bonnie Bennett that even he wouldn't dare touch. She was too full of a kind of righteous innocence that would singe the flesh off his condemned body if he got too close.

But some nights when the darkness was suffocating and thick with the endless years of immortality, god how he wanted to have her flickering beside him like a votive candle, to touch and devour her radiant flesh, to burn and burn and burn.

* * *

She'd hated and feared him as long as she'd known him, but it was different from the way she hated other vampires. _That_ was a brutally simple kind of hate that would die with a stake buried in their hearts. But this, the way she hated Klaus, it was a desperate, unfocused, stormy kind of hate, the kind of hate that was hungry and that could consume. She hated how he moved through the world like he owed nothing to anyone except himself, how he could be so utterly and luxuriously selfish.

Yes, she _hated _Klaus, but in her heart of hearts, in the place where she burned with desire for more than she could ever possibly have, she envied him too.

* * *

When he heard that bitch Katherine was on her long deserved deathbed he had to come see for himself, to glut himself on centuries of foiled triumph. He didn't expect to stumble on Bonnie Bennett in the moonlit woods. It took him a second to recognize her newly bobbed hair, but the crooked jaw and angelic full lips were the same. She didn't see him, and he watched her wiping tears from her face, sniffling and looking up at the sky as though the stars could deliver her somehow. Before either of them could make a move a gust of cold air rattled the bare branches and disturbed the leaves at their feet. When he looked up another figure stood before her, facing her: the hulking spirit of a young vampire, blustery with the rage of his stolen immortality.

"It's _you_?" he spat, "you're the Anchor?"

"The one and only," she said, dryly, tiredly.

Klaus watched the exchange with interest. His informants had been correct. Bonnie Bennett was now a living, breathing gateway to the Other Side. No longer a witch, but a gatekeeper to Death.

"Well what the fuck am I supposed to do now?" the young vampire sounded increasingly agitated, "I thought I'd have to go through some big black door, or swim across a lake or something. Instead I'm talking to some hippy-dippy tramp out here in the woods."

Green eyes flashed with a fire that Klaus remembered but had tried to forget. The fire of a lost innocence.

"You can go through me, or stay in limbo for eternity letting fools with Ouija boards play with you. Just imagine how many "hippy dippy tramps" are gonna summon you as their own personal Edward Cullen. Or maybe some witch or warlock will decide to carry you around in a slow globe. Go through me, or you don't get to go. Anywhere. Tough choice I know," her voice crackled with sarcasm, but he could sense a bitterness underneath. She was tired. And she was alone.

"What do I do?" the vamp asked, sullen and quiet.

She didn't smile. Queens and angels rarely did, but her face was ethereal in the moonlight. She said one word.

"Kneel."

Klaus watched as the youth complied, supplicating himself before her slender form. When she put her hands on his shoulders he started to tremble, the outline of his body dissolving into light. Bonnie's agonized cry melted into the young vampire's groan of release and Klaus felt desire lance through him. _He_ wanted to kneel there, at her feet, and have her slap his hand away just when he tried to touch her. To to do what no one else could truly do: deny him.

He suddenly flashed back to that long-ago night when he'd forced her to Unlink his siblings and she, incandescent with rage and desperation, had said "You bother me. You use people to get what you want and it's _not right_." It took all his self-possession not to risk everything he'd worked for and kneel before her, let her read him his sins while he begged to kiss her sweet, young feet.

Just as he gathered his heated thoughts the young vampire was gone, crossed over to the Other Side, leaving a wilted and gasping Bonnie. She took a ragged breath then crumpled to the ground.

* * *

She was so tired of emptiness. A gate was neither desired nor reviled. The wind whistled through its grates but left the structure unmoved. It swung open into Paradise or locked you shut in Hell. But no one truly cared about the gate after they got where they wanted.

Bonnie felt her senses return along with a scent she remembered from a childhood holiday: the warm, salt smell of the soothing rush of waves settled over her like a blanket and her eyelids fluttered against a soft darkness. She was blindfolded.

Someone was carrying her, strong warm arms that held her with firm tenderness. It never even occurred to her to protest. Whoever it was, they carried her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

_This is a dream_, she thought faintly as the sea breeze caressed her hair. And any moment I'm about to wake up screaming in agony, feeling hollowed out with another Crossing.

She waited for wakefulness but the dream flowed on. A door was being opened, she felt the slight jolt of being carried upstairs. The sea scent was fainter now, replaced by new and stirring odors of lemon verbena, lavender, chamomile and soap. Then, fresh air swept over her again. Her bare feet touched warm stone and firm, gentle hands at her waist.

The silk blindfold slipped off her eyes and she blinked away dots of blue and yellow. When her vision cleared, Bonnie caught her breath. She was standing on a sprawling white marble balcony, gazing out at a moonlit sea. Foam white as pearls blossomed in the hands of the dark silvery water, and over it all lay an awareness, like the stars themselves were looking down at her with adoration.

"It's all for you, love."

The voice, his voice, jolted through her and she whipped around. Klaus stood behind her at the entrance to what looked like a lush bedroom. He was wearing jeans and a white Henley that, along with his softly waving dark blond curls, gave him the look of some modern day Adonis, instead of the monster who'd terrorized her and her friends. The realization that Klaus had always been a handsome bastard surged to the surface.

"What are you doing here?"

Full, blood red lips twitched in a smile, "I could ask you the same thing."

"But you must have brought me here. Why?"

"Dreams don't work that way love, at least not for witches. I can't bring you anywhere you don't want to be."

At that word "witch" she felt an ache so deep that the air around them shifted, grew cold and harsh for a moment before she steadied her breath.

"You miss it don't you?" Klaus said quietly.

"And? You offering to be my supernatural therapist?"

He brushed close to her in a blur of movement before disappearing into the bedroom. His soft, deep laugh ghosted across her skin.

Somewhere in the back of her conscious or subconscious a voice piped up. _This is crazy, you need to wake up. It's Klaus for god's sake! _

But that voice came from another time, another life, when she was naive and full of hope, before Death had swallowed her whole and spit her out.

So instead Bonnie ventured inside to a bedroom that lit itself in baroque splendor with each step she took, reminiscent of the illustrated Art of Europe books she'd pored over with her dad in a long lost childhood. Back then she'd had dreams of working in a museum, turning corners of a gallery in smart Loboutins impressing the rich and powerful with her knowledge of Rembrandt and Monet.

Yet here she was, in the company of her former nemesis, painting the walls of a dream with her imagination.

Klaus was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. A fireplace crackled behind him, casting his features in an otherworldly light, like torches flickering shadows across marble statues. But he was no statue, and as she watched he took off his shirt in a smooth motion. His skin was unmarked and smooth with the flawlessness of immortality, except for a feather transforming into a flock of birds tattooed across his shoulder. She wondered how a tattoo needle could pierce his skin long enough, if he felt pain, if he enjoyed it.

Her mouth was dry, "What are you doing?"

Klaus lifted a pair of steel handcuffs into the light. They had thorns like a rose-stem. He put his hands behind the chair and she heard a click and his eyes met hers. His face was different now, expectant, hungry and there, behind his eyes, the slightest trace of fear. "Offering, love."

Revulsion mixed with a dark excitement in her lower belly, and the walls around them grew closer, velvety and glistening.

Klaus continued in a low voice, "I saw you in those woods when the vampire Crossed through you. How many has it been today? This week? Last month? And did your friends hold your hands, did they comfort you through the pain?"

"I don't have to listen to this." She closed her eyes and tried to will herself awake, but the dream persisted, clinging to her like a second skin. _I can't bring you anywhere you don't want to be._

"Or were you alone, like tonight? Alone and caught between heaven and hell? I know a little something about that."

"You don't know _anything_ about my pain."

His eyes were burning into her, "Then why don't you show me?"

* * *

**Soooo I just wanted to publish this before the week caught up to me. This isn't my best work but I wanted to celebrate Klonnie week with y'all. Enjoy and look for an update soon :) xoxo**


	2. Chapter 2, Pray

**This is un-betaed and hurriedly edited so I apologize for any errors. I'm not sure where I'm going to take this or if I'm going to keep taking it, but I had lots of fun writing this chapter. A note to any devout Catholics: this chapter contains the use of Latin prayer and sacral symbolism. If these things offend you please don't read. **

* * *

_"And watching, with eternal lids apart,_

_ Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,_

_The moving waters at their priestlike task_

_ Of pure ablution round earth's human shores," - _John Keats_  
_

* * *

He hadn't walked in someone's dreams in a long time, and he'd no sooner walked out of Bonnie's than he remembered why. It made him too vulnerable because you could never predict when the dream would turn, when a sudden flash of anger or shock or, even more dangerous, desire would shatter the delicate illusion and reveal him. And more, like water from an overfull glass those shared dreams could spill over into waking like, blurring and transforming necessary boundaries.

But he couldn't resist the teasing promise, the other side of that coin: it could reveal something about Bonnie Bennett too. And like a fevered pilgrim kneeling at the altar he couldn't look away from the opening veil, even if the light within scalded his eyes.

* * *

The roses were vivid as blood, soft as silk. They were delivered to her door with no return address or name, only a gilt edged card with a single, handwritten Latin word: _Ave_. The beginning of a prayer.

Bonnie threw out the card, then she drove the flowers to the local cemetery and left them at a stranger's grave. A thorn pricked her finger and she cursed under her breath, fumbling in her bag for a Kleenex.

* * *

_"Please."_

_She stared raptly at the blood welling and pouring from her slit wrist. Warm wet ruby drops splashed at her feet, splattered red petals across her bare thighs as she raised a blood-flecked foot and ran it with balletic grace up his denim-clad thigh, stopping just short of his bulging erection._

_"Hmm?" was her dreamy response to Klaus' groaned plea. Bound hand and foot to a chair, he could only watch as she stood there dripping benediction inches from his starving, sinful mouth like the the holy spring of Lourdes._

_Bonnie was enraptured by her own blood, at how she could bleed and bleed without feeling lightheaded. This was her dream, and no pain could touch her that she didn't want or desire._

_Klaus on the other hand..._

_She knew he was close to breaking, and with an innocent smile she trailed blood over her decolletage so it ran down her cleavage like mountain streams. His eyes blackened and a growl rumbled in his throat. Sweat covered his bare torso and dripped off his brow, sweat that she had brought forth, the sweat of a trembling lust that was all hers to tease and deny._

_'Come and get it big boy.'_

_But she'd already started dissolving the dream. Klaus had barely snapped his restraints and lunged towards her before she began melting away. Bonnie laughed at the thwarted hunger on his face, and as the last of the dream faded away she saw him drop to his knees, panting and ever so slightly awestruck._

* * *

Bonnie ignored Jeremy's texts on her phone and poured herself some hot cinnamon tea instead. Ever since she'd told him she needed some space he'd been circling her like a wounded puppy, hurt and anxious and full of questions she was in no mood to begin answering.

How could she tell him the only person who made her feel anything these days was a centuries old monster who relished in her scorn and denial, who got high on degradation and a hard-on for her blood?

She could barely face the voices in her own head these days, the ones that whispered that she was a freak, a pervert, some kind of sicko for returning to those dreams, for returning to Klaus, over and over again. She'd try to deny him at first, to deny her own desires. But like the devil that he was he'd seen through her, plucked out the secret wanting and dangled it before her eyes.

* * *

_'I can feel your hurt and rage Bonnie. It eats you up inside doesn't it? All that burning anger trapped in such a sweet and pure vessel. Why keep all that poison locked away? Why not feed the hungry?'_

_'Why would I feed you, or give you, anything?'_

_He looked up from under his lashes almost coyly, a demon wearing the face of an angel, 'Because you would never let your anger spill over your friends. They'll never glimpse that fire because you think they don't deserve it. And you're right.'_

_He made as if to touch the wisps of hair around her face, but withdrew his hand, 'those fools could never deserve the goddess that walks inside you wearing a saint's disguise. The latter hates me, and I've earned that hatred. The former wants to punish me, and I crave that even more. So what are you waiting for, love? Give me what I deserve.'_

* * *

By now she was familiar with the cold air that followed in the footsteps of the dead. She set down her tea and turned to face the haggard looking werewolf couple standing in her kitchen in spirit form.

They were young, probably no older than sixteen, leather and denim clothes ripped, clutching each other's shivering hands. Bonnie remembered sixteen. It was the taste of summer and magic and a world that seemed hers for the taking.

"I'm the one you're looking for. The Anchor," she said, "are you ready?"

The boy nodded and stepped forward but the girl, a fragile young thing with doe eyes and red hair, clutched at him with a cry. She turned an imploring, desperate face to Bonnie.

"Please," said the girl.

Bonnie simply shook her head.

"C'mon Trisha," her boyfriend gathered her close and knelt to the ground, "at least we're together."

"What...what do we do now?" Trisha asked through broken sobs.

This time Bonnie found it within her to smile. "Pray."

Light gathered furiously around the kneeling figures, swallowing them up even as their timid voices recited along with Bonnie

"Ave Maria, gratia plena

Dominus tecum

Benedicta tu in mulieribus"

The agony came as it always did and choked the words out of her throat, turning them into low cries instead. Waves of pain shuddered over her and the last of the prayer echoed in the blinding light.

* * *

The clawfoot bathtub was the only thing Bonnie liked about her shoebox apartment. Lounging in hot fragrant water that soaked away her bodily aches was becoming a force of habit.

Leaning her head on a towel, she ran idle, underwater hands over her small, firm breasts, the taut expanse of her stomach, resting them just above her pubis. Her skin was soft and smooth as cinnamon, her body young and firm. To the outside she looked like a girl ready and sweet for love. But these days the only hands she could stomach were her own. It was much easier this way, she thought as she slipped a hand between her legs and stroked herself. She was stone to the rest of the world, because being flesh was too vulnerable.

Her eyes drifting shut, she parted her labia and caressed the heated, secret flesh within, making slow circles up to her clit. One leg looped over the tub, the other cocked at the knee, Bonnie began to touch herself in earnest, flicking and rubbing until arousal began to claim her body centrifugally.

_Let me touch you, love. Please._

_No._

_You can burn my hands off my arms later if you want. Just let them worship you first._

_I said no Klaus._

Knowing he could feel her as hotly as she felt him, Bonnie sucked two of her own fingers and penetrated herself. A low moan came from her lips and somewhere she heard Klaus say _god_.

She was moving her hands faster now, rubbing and thrusting, slowing down only to heighten the building heat, licking her fingers and mingling spit with the salt essence of her arousal.

_Bonnie_, he groaned in her mind, god, _Bonnie please._

She moved one hand to cup her own breast, squeezing and pinching the nipple. Moments like this she wished she really was a goddess, a many-armed one like Kali, so she could touch herself in all the places she wanted, all at the same time.

_Tell me, Klaus. What kind of saint has monsters entreating her?_

_A fallen one. An earthly one._

She was close now, so close, her inner-thigh muscles tightly flexed, hips moving urgently against her own hand.

_And you said you wanted to worship me? Is that what you want Klaus?_

_Yes, fuck, ahh. Bonnie yes._

_Then pray. Pray to me._

The orgasm was ready, waiting coiled and tense like a jaguar to leap up and devour her whole, waiting for his hoarse, aching prayer.

_"Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,_

_ora pro nobis peccatoribus,_

_nunc et in hora mortis nostrae."_

She screamed as the wave broke, a pleasure so intense piercing her whole body, it was almost painful. Throes of orgasm racked her body and she splashed wildly in the water, wishing the pure, white-hot sensation could cleanse her of life and memory.

Behind her flickering eyelids she had a glimpse of Klaus. He was kneeling at her side, dipping his fingers but barely into her bathwater and then touching them to his lips. His eyes closed as though he was savoring the taste of something indescribable.

_'By this holy water and by your precious Blood, wash away all my sins, O Lord. Amen'_

For a moment she lay there soaking it all in, the prayers, the afterglow. But eventually the water grew cold and she had to get out.

Lying in bed she wondered if Klaus could still see her and sense her, if he was lying in his own bed thinking of her, pleasuring himself. Or maybe he was lying next to someone else, a flesh and blood woman who let him do more than just pray.

_I'm not doing this anymore. No more roses, no more dreams. It's finished Klaus._

Bonnie shut out his voice and reached for the sleeping pills in her bedside drawer.

* * *

"Klaus, might I ask what draws you away from New Orleans at the very height of our war with Marcel?"

He was about to get in his car when he cursed out loud at Elijah's voice. He was hoping to leave without notice so he could evade just such questions like these.

Klaus turned around, "I have business in Mystic Falls, that's all you need to know."

"Ah, and might this business involve a certain green-eyed witch?"

When Klaus was silent, he pressed on, "Although, I hear she's not the force of nature she used to be. Hardly. She's just a gateway now. The Anchor. So what could you possibly want with her or that town?"

Klaus rubbed his fingertips together, smiling fondly at the memory of water. "I'm going on a pilgrimage brother. Like the sinners of old."

Elijah's eyebrows rose, "Are you drunk?"

"Don't worry, there'll be plenty of time for war later," he slid into his Camaro and started the engine, driving off into the night leaving a very confused Elijah behind.

He had no idea what he was going to say to Bonnie Bennett when he saw her, he just knew that whatever they had, whatever you'd call their twisted, torturous, fantasy connection, it couldn't end like this. Just seeing her in dreams was enthralling enough, seeing her in flesh and blood was going to be even more dangerous.

Maybe she'd let him kneel and pray his way back into her mind. Or maybe she'd strike him with whatever she could. But either punishment or benediction it would be at her feet.

What more could a pilgrim want?

* * *

**This fic is very experimental for me so please RxR if you can, I would love to hear your thoughts! xoxo**


	3. Chapter 3, Drink

**A/N: If you're squicky about bodily fluids/ menstruation don't read this. I was talking to my advisor about black femme dommes and cosmic rage today, and this chapter was the result.**

* * *

_"Ah, forgive us our virtues, forgive us,_

_Our Lady of Pain." - Algernon Charles Swinburne_

* * *

"Go to hell, Klaus."

He leaned closed to her ear, "Take me."

She should've known that dreams would only go so far, that sooner or later the depraved pleasures they conjured together would spill into waking life. "I can't do those things, not without my magic. And I don't want to."

"Is that why you call me to you, over and over again?" he lowered his voice, "is that why the thought of me kneeling gets you _wet_?"

Damn him and his hybrid senses. She glared at him, wanting to scratch his eyes out, but shit he'd probably love that. "You're wasting your time."

She'd almost closed the door in his face. Almost.

"You know love, there are other ways you can hurt me."

* * *

The first time, she didn't even undo the silver chains, just left him kneeling with wrists suspended like the tortured Christ and the bloody lashes from her vervain-laced whip burning across his back.

Back at her house, lying under the familiar softness of lavender scented covers, she tried to make sense of what she'd just done to him. This was not the delirious frenzy of dreams, this was real, sweat-soaked, profanity-spitting, mortification of flesh. Klaus' harsh labored breathing still rang in her ears. His threshold for pain was wide and deep, and one she found deep satisfaction in crossing. When that first agonized gasp came from his lips - _fuck_. Bonnie clenched her thighs at the memory, and the flesh of her palms, still stiff from grasping the whip, throbbed in response.

* * *

The stilettos were blood-red and gleaming, infused with vervain. She'd gotten quite inventive; who knew that causing Klaus Mikaelson pain would unleash unknown depths of creativity inside her?

Bonnie dragged the tip of one poisonous heel lazily across his chest, watching his skin burn and peel like a candy wrapper.

He hissed and writhed but the shackles on his ankles and wrists held fast, keeping him spread-eagled on the black marble floor, literally at her feet. They were in New Orleans, she having driven up after a week of ghosts and pain that left her numb.

Over and over she brushed the heel tip over his skin, torturing him with restraint, until his chest was a map of red and peeling lines. Resting one foot above his heart, knowing she could pierce flesh and bone easily, her eyes travelled up the straining column of his throat and found his face flushed and sweaty, panting. She raised her foot and caressed the side of his face. Teeth bared, eyes glazed, he pleaded wordlessly. _Give it to me._

If she looked over her shoulder she knew she'd see his erection bulging against the black jeans. But as hard as her punishments made him, it wasn't his dick that either of them were thinking about.

"No" she mouthed, smiling and removing her foot. She tossed the heels away and padded barefoot out of the room, closing the door behind her as he groaned her name like a dying wish.

* * *

She'd come up with the idea of a rosary after they discussed the particularities of being enemies who play at pain.

"Love, it's not that I'm opposed to you striding into my home and unleashing your own sweet version of hell, but considering our history it might make things less awkward if we had some kind of object to mark the beginning of play. Most people I know use rings or bracelets."

"I've always thought you needed a collar and leash."

She was half-joking, but his eyes gleamed with interest.

"Are you ready for that level of submission from me? Because I could give it to you, love. Easily."

She'd felt herself grow hot at the images splayed across her mind.

Two days later she'd found the perfect object of supplication in the window of an antique store.

She could tell he admired the delicate craftsmanship of the necklace, how the jade caught just enough light and darkness, how the silver crucifix offset the dark-green beads. He was an artist after all, and the symbolism of it all appealed to them both.

Yes, she'd chosen well.

He held it out to her, woven through his strong, slender fingers, waiting for her to place it around his neck.

She shook her head. "You put it on, then kneel."

As he garlanded himself for her, she felt a thrill of pleasure and power, like a cold angel come to exact penance from the wicked. But no, not cold, _alive_. Full of unbridled, heated power.

As the Anchor she could never say no, was forced to endure the pain of each Passing. But here, now, the Original Hybrid kneeling before her, waiting for her command, thirsting for her to be cruel, to be coy, to deny and punish as she wanted, she'd never felt anything like it.

In those moments, she was alive in a way she'd never been before. With Klaus at her feet iy was the closest she came to feeling like she was once again a witch.

* * *

She went particularly hard during the session that day. No less than five dead souls had crossed over the night before, peeling her from the inside out.

Klaus was kneeling shirtless in the middle of the room, with the wrist of each hand bound to a post on either side of him.

Bonnie lashed him like a fury. All the helpless pain, her helpless anger at the loss of her powers, she took it all out on him until the smooth, immortal skin of his shoulders was dripping blood. But it wasn't enough.

She only stopped when her arm could no longer lift itself, the whip still clutched in her shaking hand.

His head hung between bloodied shoulders, lolling side to side while the breath came harsh and deep out of him. "Fucking hell," Klaus said hoarsely in a voice that didn't even sound like himself.

It took almost fifteen minutes for him to raise his head, for his breathing to regulate. Fifteen precious minutes she savored to redeem an entire, stolen life.

* * *

Lucy Bennett chuckled long and low over the phone, "Damn cuz, didn't know you were hardcore like that."

"Neither did I," Bonnie felt a creeping smile, "I don't know what to do Luce. This is crazy but it's also the only thing keeping me sane."

"So what's the problem? You don't have magic anymore, not like he can embroil you in his plans for world domination. Other kinds of domination, clearly-"

"So now you're a comedian."

"I'm just saying, he's clearly into it, and bad enough to keep coming back in the middle of a damn war of powers in New Orleans."

"Exactly, Klaus never does anything without some ulterior motive. What if he wants something from me-,"

"Then you call me," Lucy interjected calmly, "and I call up a few old friends in the Quarter and we take care of you. But right now, I'll bet money it's all about the kink. Lots of older vampires have them, makes sense if you think about it."

Bonnie frowned, "I always knew Klaus was...twisted, but with other people, not himself. Three years ago when I almost killed him he hated me, swore revenge and all that. Now he wants me to whip and bruise him to my heart's content."

"He's the Original Hybrid, Bonnie. Think about that. He's never been denied anything he wanted, not for long, and he has more power than anyone should. It's messing with his head. If I had to guess, I'd say letting you hurt him makes him feel just the tiniest bit human. That's like heroin for someone like him."

"I guess that makes sense...," Bonnie trailed off. Violently bringing Klaus closer to his own humanity was not something she'd ever envisioned doing.

"What I wanna know is, what's in it for you?"

"Huh?"

"You know what I mean," Lucy paused, then continued, "look, you having to be the Anchor is fucked up. I wish we could fix it, because no one deserves that, especially not you. What do you want, or what do you need, while Klaus gets to feel like the whipped little boy we all know he is deep down?'

Bonnie gave a short laugh, "I'd like a damn break from being the Anchor, that's for sure."

"Hmm...when they come to you and ask to Pass, have you tried saying 'no'?"

"That's insane. It'll never work."

"Less insane than making Klaus Mikaelson your bitch-sub every week?"

"Bye Lucy."

* * *

He looked good in a collar.

Especially the black leather one with the tiny rhinestone spikes she'd picked out herself and soaked in vervain.

She lashed his back and chest as usual, and added a few slaps across his face for good measure. Her hands were stinging but she still wanted more.

Bonnie looked down at Klaus, his mouth parted half in ecstasy and half in exhaustion.

He looked ready to drink her bathwater if she asked. And an idea curled itself into her mind.

"Wait here," she commanded and slipped into the bathroom. She washed her hands and removed her panties, stuffing them into her purse. A glance in the mirror showed someone she both recognized and didn't: Bonnie Bennett, glowing with some otherworldly power, a fierce and numinous kind of fire.

_What's in it for you?_

Rearranging her dress and throwing her tampon away, she re-entered the candle-lit room and found Klaus there, waiting, patient and obedient.

As soon as she walked in, his demeanor changed, head rising to attention. He growled low in his throat, smelling blood.

Bonnie stood just far enough away that he could smell the red wetness already beginning to slick her thighs. The chains rattled but held fast. Her heart was pounding, adrenaline making her giddy, but it was a good kind of giddy, like floating on a sea of champagne.

"Someone's hungry," she remarked, casually.

Klaus swore in a language she didn't recognize, and she laughed. Pulling over a metal stool, she hopped up so his face was level with her thighs. Dark veins appeared under his eyes and she shivered, arousal mixing wetly with menstrual blood at her core.

"You said you wanted to worship me," she whispered, slowly parting her legs.

His fists clenched in their restraints, and another growl rumbled in his chest. He was almost shaking.

One tug on his collar was all it took. He lapped up the blood on her thighs like a hungry cat devouring a saucer of milk. Bonnie sighed, her head falling back as his mouth edged further up, fangs grazing her skin. When he reached her nether lips he moaned, sucking and licking like he'd never tasted blood before. She tangled her fingers in his curls, shoving her blood-soaked cunt rhythmically against his face. Her flesh, extra-sensitive from her period and from not having been touched by another person in god knows how long, trembled and shivered and thrilled to his ravenous tongue. He grunted and panted but never let up. When he'd licked her clean she tightened her grip on his hair and he, magically, understood. Plunging his tongue into her, he drank her inside out while she rocked hypnotically, edging closer and closer to orgasm with every second. Klaus sounded like a drowning man, and every muffled groan she felt against her clit made her gush all over again, blood, wetness, both, all of which he consumed like she really was some unholy fount. When she was close to the edge she shoved his face away and swiped her clit. It only took a few seconds before the orgasm shuddered and rippled through her, making her cry out an expletive while his head rolled against her thigh.

Slowly, Bonnie floated down from her delirious high and let go of Klaus. He fell back in his restraints, fingers curling and uncurling in the manacles that held his arms. He looked entranced, his eyes glowing amber, dazed. Blood and moisture glistened around his mouth and smeared his neck. This was by far the most profane thing she'd ever done, and she felt nothing but holy, holy, holy.

When she left, three vampire ghosts - two men and a woman, all in glittery evening wear - were waiting for her outside.

They rushed her with a casual arrogance that set her teeth on edge.

Bonnie stood up straighter, seizing the memory of Klaus from just minutes ago, the most powerful man in the world, drinking from between her thighs like he was grateful for the privilege. "Stop."

And just like that, they froze, unable to Pass through her.

"Lucy was right," she murmured in wonderment. To think all this time, she'd just had to say No and mean it, to believe in her power to deny and grant as she saw fit.

The three exchanged churlish looks. Bonnie laughed, and she couldn't remember the last time she did so quite like this, full and almost, almost carefree. There would be consequences later, the balance would need restoring, and surely some angry Spirits would descend on Mystic Falls determined to set her straight. But tonight, she wasn't afraid of any of that. Tonight, she was something outside of balance, outside of control.

"Sorry folks," she walked past the ghosts, feeling the cool night air on her thighs, her heels clicking on gravel, "the Anchor is closed for business."


	4. Chapter 4, Receive

_**A/N:** This is how I celebrate "Lemonade". _

_I have no excuses. None._

* * *

"_Goddamn,_

_she murdered everybody and I was her witness." - Beyonce Knowles_

* * *

She'd seen angels only once.

A long-lost Easter morning with her father, white lace socks on her feet and a new yellow dress with ribbons. The angels painted on the walls and windows of the church looked larger than life, beautiful in a strange, melancholy way. She was a little afraid of them, but mostly she hoped that if one day she ever saw one they would let her touch their wings, to see if their feathers were made of light.

No one ever told her about angels of death. What they looked like, felt like, walked like.

She wondered what they thought, all those souls that shuffled up to her asking to pass through. Were they disappointed when they saw that their gatekeeper was a slip of a girl with a crooked jaw, and not a mysterious winged creature?

There were some nights she wanted to greet them with blood on her lips and skulls garlanded at her throat. If she could not awe them, she wanted them afraid. She wanted them to know that Death was not like the hymns and stories. It was not kind or luminous. It brought no epiphany or grace. It was flesh and agony and being hollowed out. It was incontrovertible. It simply _was._

One night Klaus watched her caressing his wounds with her fingernails. The marks would soon be gone, but her hunger remained.

"I don't know what I want," she murmured, tracing patterns in his blood.

"Don't lie."

She eased open a laceration on his chest. He hissed. She savored the feel of flesh and blood and thought about the insides of his body. He didn't pull away. He let her penetrate further. She pushed him away, shocked by her own desire.

His eyes met hers. She wasn't ready to read the truth there.

* * *

She could make them wait, but she could not make them afraid.

Bonnie didn't look in the mirror much these days. She didn't know what she would recognize. She just knew she wanted ghosts to fear her.

It would be her last scrap of dignity before they committed the ultimate violation - went through her and into her.

(Did angels have flesh? Could they know pain? )

Her sleep was restless. Her mind cloudy with images she tried to keep at bay.

And always, his voice in her ear.

_Don't lie._

* * *

"I must say, love, I never thought you would get sentimental."

They were in the parlor of his former abode in Mystic Falls. He'd kept her captive here. Forced her to perform magic for him. If she closed her eyes, she could taste the old traces of her fear.

No, there was no sentiment here. Only ghosts.

She walked around the room, her steps precise. She was nervous, but she would die before any hint of that younger, fearful self could surface. She would kill _that_ Bonnie herself, before she let her raise her doe-like eyes here.

"You have a weird idea of sentimental." Bonnie faced him at last.

He was wearing a grey velvet robe. Monogrammed of course, and luxuriant no doubt.

She was clad head to toe in darkest blue. If drowning had a color, she imagined it was this.

Klaus' smile was like a dagger being unsheathed. He approached her almost casually,"Where do you want me?"

She almost shivered at the deja-vu. He knew exactly what he was doing.

She raised her chin, matching him smile for smile, blade for blade. "On the table."

There was amusement in his eyes but surprise too. And something else. Admiration perhaps, or curiosity.

Oh how she longed for her magic, so she could make him kneel, burn that velvet right off his skin. But instead she had to resort to gesturing.

The robe slipped off. He was pale and sculpted like marble. Lithe and smooth and indolent in the candlelight. She drank him in, head to toe, from the column of his neck to the contours of his abdomen, his penis, his sinewy thighs and feet. She stared so long the air grew heavy with expectation. Bonnie watched in fascination as his organ grew harder, the flesh transforming right before her eyes.

She couldn't move, she was instantly addicted to the feeling, the power to change things without touching them.

"Turn around," her voice sounded different to her own ears, cool and soft. "Spread your legs."

He obeyed, though she noted a slight hesitance.

She touched his back and he shivered.

Ah, not hesitance.

Desire.

She traced her vervaine crop up and down his skin, little red-hot tongues of pain. Over and over, never drawing blood, never giving him what he really wanted. Soon he was tense as a taut bow, trying not to grind his hips against the table.

There were two Bonnies at that moment: one, distant and afraid, and the other, dangerous and perverse.

She set the crop aside and removed a beautiful green appendage from her bag. It was carved from jade, smooth as ivory.

"Stay there," she instructed, slipping on her heels. A little height made all the difference.

Klaus was breathing deep and slow, masking his own anticipation. She wondered how many people knew this about him and lived.

But Death no longer frightened her. Like breathing or bleeding, it simply was.

She stood behind him. She wrapped her hands around the jade cock the way you would a crucifix. She thought of all the times she'd been made hollow.

Bonnie eased the cock between his cheeks. They both stilled, like Time itself had sucked in a breath. She thought of this same room, years ago, and the young witch who was now gone. She thrust inside him.

When she'd commissioned the dildo - with his credit card of course - she'd considered ordering a harness as well, something wicked and beautiful. Perhaps she still might. This time though, the first time, she wanted to use her hands.

It was a curious feeling, penetrating someone. She'd expected to feel revulsion, instead something bordering on reverence hummed under her skin. This was the ultimate knowledge, the last intimacy.

And in the wake of that realization, anger followed. How many times had the Dead lanced through her and never looked back?

How many times had _he_ taken things from her and never paused in thankfulness?

Klaus laughed low in his throat when her thrusts became harsher, rougher. He'd been waiting for this.

Bonnie twisted her wrist mid-thrust and his laughter dissolved into a gasp. Her lip curled. She thrust again and again, no longer caring about finesse. She wanted him to feel her, the way she felt every single ghost. She wanted his voice to falter at language.

She put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down, down across the table he'd once forced her to stand at. His hands gripped the edge, white-knuckled and feverish. She was mesmerized by the fine tremors running up and down his body.

She picked up the whip and cracked it across his back while pulling out and in with her other hand. This time he swore. She kept it up, lash, thrust, lash thrust, like he was her horse and she intended to complete the journey or watch him collapse beneath her. Soon, he was beyond even cursing.

Klaus' grunts and moans filled the air and Bonnie felt herself shiver in a mad kind of rhapsody. Sweat trickled down his arms and back, dripped off his forehead onto the polished wood table.

Lash, thrust, lash, thrust.

Bonnie was so caught in the moment she almost didn't see the ghosts standing by the doorway, staring at her in horror.

She stopped. Klaus looked over his shoulder at her, panting. He could only growl his need.

The ghosts hovered, a man and a woman, too young to die but not so young they hadn't seen some of the world. Under different circumstances, they might have approached her sullenly. Now, they stood fearful and shocked.

There were two Bonnies in that moment. She blinked and saw that other, younger, Bonnie, with her curling girlish tresses and soft mouth. Only, she was no longer afraid. Her wide-eyes flashed red, her lips gave birth to a scream, her hands turned into claws. Innocent and profaned, terrified and cruel, there were no more distinctions. This was who she was, this was who the world always intended her to be.

Bonnie raised the whip. The ghosts goggled.

She seared Klaus' flesh with one hand and fucked him with the other.

_Here's your Anchor_, she wanted to shout.

This time, she found a rhythm, precise and violent. Her hands trembled and her muscles ached, but she kept moving. Lash, thrust, lash, thrust.

_Were you expecting an angel?_

Klaus writhed and shook beneath her. She laughed and gasped in uncontrollable excitement.

The ghosts fled in terror. She did not know where. Let them wander the night. Let them quake at the thought of asking her for _anything_.

At the very last, she let Klaus' hand reach for his cock. Lash, thrust. He froze and then shuddered so violently she wondered if even a white oak stake could cause more frenzy.

Wave after wave of painful pleasure. She drank it like wine.

When at last she drew the jade cock out of him, they both collapsed on the carpet. Klaus rolled over on his back, still gasping, eyes closed in an almost saintly ecstasy.

She watched him slowly return to himself. Then, cupping his jaw, she leaned over him and pressed a kiss to his mouth. It was a soft and warm kiss, the gentlest of all their transactions. Before he could react, she pulled away and gathered her things. Receded from the room like a dark wave.

Cruelty for the dead and tenderness for the living. She thought maybe, just maybe, she could learn to live with that kind of imbalance.

There were two Bonnies in the room that night.

They left as one.

* * *

**A/N:** _I thought this fic was done. I was wrong. I know this was all kinds of out there, but I wanted Bonnie to peg Klaus. That's really it. _

_Shoutout to thefudgeisgrumpy and notthebees for always keeping the Klonnie Excellence 100% real and inspiring me to do the same._


End file.
